


Wouldn't It Be Nice

by barium



Category: South Park
Genre: Age Difference, Brokeback Mountain AU, First Time, Homophobia, Infidelity, M/M, Sad Ending, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barium/pseuds/barium
Summary: After being caught in a compromising position by his dad, Kyle is sent to work for Jimbo Kern herding sheep across the mountain for the summer, alongside Jimbo’s nephew Stan Marsh.





	1. Chapter 1

The year was 1966. Kyle’s father was the one who had forced him to be here, in this dingy old office owned by Jimbo Kern. He sat in a chair in front of Jimbo’s desk, the one adjacent to him empty because his partner for the summer was running late.

He already knew everything he needed to know about the man. His name was Stanley Marsh. He was Jimbo’s nephew and a rugged type, someone meant for this job. He probably had the same twangy southern accent and stringy hair that Jimbo did, with bad teeth and a horse shit scent. Kyle hated to think of it.

He wasn’t meant to be doing this. It was a summer-long job. It paid a decent amount, which wasn’t going to Kyle at all, but instead straight into his dad’s greedy hands. He and this stranger—Stan—would be, for the most part, completely cut off from society all summer while they took Jimbo’s herd of fifty-some sheep across Finley. There would be no television, stovetop, toilet paper, or newspaper. They would be delivered food periodically somehow, Kyle knew that, but he didn’t know the details. He figured they’d be told eventually.

He was here because his father, Mr. Gerald Broflovski, caught him out by the shed with a man pulling his hair and a dick in his ass. The guy was a prostitute named David, a Mexican man who delighted in the chance to be the giver, and Kyle was his regular. Until that moment, of course. Kyle had panicked and rushed to his father, who was visibly disgusted with him. Kyle was near on his knees in his begging for mercy, and more important—secrecy. For a moment he was afraid his father would hit him, but he was too much of a pacifist for that. He ended up leaving, disappointment in his eyes that Kyle felt in his bones.

A week later—an agonizing week to be sure, unsure of what his punishment would be or when it would come—his dad came to him in his room while he was studying.

“Kyle.”

Every time he looked at him, Kyle felt a hot rush of shame flood through himself. He set down his pencil and faced his dad in his chair. “Hi, dad.”

“I’ve gotten you a job this summer,” he told him. “You’ll be herding Jimbo Kern’s sheep across the mountain. It’ll be a rough summer away from—all of this. I need time to think, and you need to work.”

“Across the _mountain_?”

“Finley.”

Kyle stood. “Dad, you can’t. You know I can’t—“

“I do know, and it’s my fault.” He set his hand on Kyle’s doorknob. “You’re nearly eighteen. You need to learn how to be a proper man. It’s this or nothing.”

He shut the door. He left Kyle thinking of what _or nothing_ meant.

Kyle was eighteen now, as he sat in this chair. As he watched Jimbo itch toward the phone, uncomfortable in their terse silence that Kyle refused to break in his anger. Even as behind him, he heard the door open.

The man that walked in all but threw himself in the chair beside Kyle, breathing heavy in his rush. “Sorry I’m late,” he—Stan—said, smiling at his uncle. “My damned car wouldn’t start. I had to rush it to Clyde’s and he made me wait thirty minutes before opening his doors because the business didn’t open until nine. Can you believe it?”

Kyle noticed a few things. The first was that he didn’t have a horrid accent. It was there, definitely, but he was a subtle Texan, apparently. It was annoying to Kyle on principle, as was part of his hate for this godforsaken state—he was from Colorado—but it wasn’t unbearable. His voice was nice, deep but clear and melodic. The words rolled off of his tongue so easily that Kyle wondered if he was a public speaker, or maybe a singer.

The second was that he was handsome. His hair was longish and swept across his forehead in a boyish way, but his facial hair and general confidence gave away his manhood. He looked strong. His smile was blinding, so much so that Kyle couldn’t look at him for very long.

The third, and last, was that his dad was a fool.

“That’s alright, buddy!” Jimbo was peppy, glad that he wouldn’t have to be alone with Kyle any longer. “Neither of y’all are goin’ down ‘til tomorrow anyway, so we got time. I know you already know most of what you need to know, but I’ll run over everything again for both of your benefit. Stan, this is Kyle Broflovski.” Stan twisted to look at Kyle while he spoke, and Kyle had to fight not to blush, or worse, smile. “He’s volunteered to help you, and it’ll make the work a hell of a lot easier that way. His dad’s Gerald from the bank. Their family’s new to town, and they came down from Colorado. Kyle, this is Stan, my nephew.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stan said politely. He offered his hand and Kyle accepted it without thinking. His grip was firm. Kyle wondered how old he was.

“You too,” he said. He wanted to correct Jimbo on claiming his family was new to town, when they’d been living here for a good four years, but Jimbo had probably been living here for four generations.

“Now that there’s two instead of one, I’ve split the work up,” Jimbo went on. “As Stan knows, there are campsites on the allotments. One of you will be the camp tender and sleep at the main camp, where Forest Service stays. The other,” he nodded to Kyle, “will be the herder. You’ll pitch a tent near the sheep every night, and that’s where you’ll sleep. Always with the sheep, no matter what.”

Kyle nodded, understood. He would bet money that his dad had said something along the lines of, _Please give my son the hardest job you have. Thank you._

“You’ll eat together at your camp, breakfast and dinner. Don’t leave traces of a fire, or any other signs. I don’t want any trouble with Forest Service.” He pointed to Stan. “Friday’s. Down by the bridge with a grocery list. Someone will be there to pick up.”

“Sounds good,” Stan said.

“I think that’s about all I have for y’all,” he said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here and I’ll take you both to the jump off. Do you have any questions?”

He seemed to aim this question directly at Kyle. Kyle heard every word, but he still had no idea how he was going to survive the summer with this much shit to do. He shook his head anyway. “No sir.”

“Alright then! It was nice meeting you.” He waved his hand. “Y’all can go.”

They both rose from their seats at the same time. Kyle couldn’t help but notice Stan was half a head taller than he was. Stan let him leave first.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Kyle descended the steps with his hands in the pockets of his jacket that he refused to take off—he felt safer with it on. Stan had a jacket wrapped around his waist. Kyle started toward his car, his feet crunching the gravel. He lamented driving—it was scary and tedious, and more responsibility than he was comfortable having. He knew this was an unusual opinion to have for someone of his age. He didn’t have to worry about it anyway, because Stan spoke to him before he could open his door.

“Hey dude,” he said by way of stopping him. “Kyle, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you already have plans tonight?” he asked. “I was thinking we could have a drink.”

For a second, Kyle felt his heart flutter. Stan was looking away kind of shyly, his hand on his neck. The motion made the muscles in his arm more obvious than they’d been. Kyle’s impression of the man had changed. So he wasn’t a hick, fine. He could still be stupid, or maybe he picked his nose, or maybe he was taken—not that any of that mattered. He could admit to killing a man right now, and Kyle would say yes, because his eyes were blue.

Kyle pretended to consider it, before nodding decidedly. “Let’s go then.”

At least now he didn’t have to drive.

 

 

Kyle didn’t go to bars. In fact, Kyle didn’t go outside at all. There were two reasons for this. First of all, he was a scholar. Not because he wanted to be but because his father was a banker and his mother was a hardass and his little brother, Ike, was a lost cause. So he had to get the best grades and go to the best university next year and become something like a lawyer or a doctor, so that his parents would be proud of him. This meant he spent virtually all of his time studying. He had all honors classes, and all As in each one, so all he did everyday was his homework and stress himself out. On the odd hours where he had free time he would sleep. During the summer, his exhaustion caught up with him and he became nothing—just a body that would sleep, and sleep, and sleep. Sometimes he’d follow his brother around. Ike was thirteen, and had plenty of things to do and people to see.

That was the other reason. Kyle didn’t have friends, really. He had Kenny, his long-time neighbor with a dirty mouth, but that was pretty much it. He hung out with Kenny when he was feeling self-destructive, or when Kenny forced him to. All they usually did together was smoke and talk about girls. Kenny got with a lot of girls, all the time. He had a never-ending stream of girlfriends and always pestered Kyle about getting one, because of course Kyle never told him about himself. The only soul who knows that particular secret is his dad, now.

So no, he had never been to a bar. But Stan didn’t need to know that.

Stan’s car was an ugly old thing from the outside, but inside it was actually pretty clean. In the back he had some strewn clothes and in the front a few empty beer cans, but that was really it. When Kyle failed to engage him in conversation, he switched on the radio. Kyle learned that he listened to alternative music. Stan hummed along to it the entire time.

The bar Stan took him to was lowly lit and seemed hidden among the buildings around it. The sign read “Skeeter’s Bar and Cocktails,” but the _o_ in Cocktails was flickering. Cruel irony. The inside was mostly empty, given that it was only three in the afternoon on a Thursday. Stan took him to the bartender, where they sat on stools.

“Hey there, Stan!” The bartender was an ugly old southern gentleman, just the type of man Kyle didn’t want to talk to. He was drying a glass. “Whatcha been up to? Who’s this?”

“Hi Skeeter. This is Kyle,” Stan said. “He’s working with me this summer on the mountain.”

“Sounds fun,” Skeeter said. “Riding horses, killing your meat, and cookin’ it over the kindling fire. That’s the way life’s meant to be lived, boys.”

“We’re just here for a drink or two.” Stan seemed to realize something, and turned to Kyle. “Wait, shit, how old are you?”

Kyle was tempted to lie, but he was a bad liar. “Eighteen.”

“It’s no big deal,” Skeeter said. He gave Kyle a friendly look. “Any friend of Stan’s is a friend of mine. And you’re both about to go all summer without liquor! You can have as many as you want tonight, so long as you don’t tell nobody.”

“Just one, thank you.”

“And what’ll you have?”

Kyle glanced to Stan nervously. “Whatever he’s having.”

Stan nodded to Skeeter. “Just whisky.”

Skeeter left and came back quickly with the drinks. He didn’t linger, which Kyle was grateful for. Glad to be given an excuse, Kyle was tempted to ask: “How old are you?”

Stan gave him a sideways grin. “Twenty-three.” He drank from his glass.

Kyle accepted this. He was unsure of what to do with his own drink. He heard these were disgusting, and he didn’t want a hangover on their first day. He sniffed it.

“Dude, did you just sniff it?”

“I’ve never had it before,” Kyle defended himself, his face growing warm.

Stan was smiling now. “It’s pretty gross, to be honest. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said awkwardly.

“So tell me about yourself,” Stan said. “I don’t know anything about you. Jimbo hasn’t told me shit.”

“Well, my dad’s making me work,” Kyle told him. “We, um, we need the money. His name’s Gerald. Broflovski.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him.” Stan swirled his drink while he spoke. “I think my dad’s friends with him actually.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“Randy Marsh. He’s a professional rodeo cowboy.” He rolled his eyes as he said this. “He’s good at it but it hardly makes money. And my mom just works in a grocery store. That’s why I help out Jimbo. For the money, same as you.”

“He said last summer you were by yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “There were less sheep. And more dogs.”

“What’s it like?” Kyle asked him. “Being out there?”

He shrugged again. It was cute when he did it. “It’s fine. I had to be fast whenever I left the sheep to go down to the bridge, ‘cause it was just me. And I’m not good at—shooting animals, you know. So getting food was hard.” He seemed embarrassed by this.

“I’ll shoot them,” Kyle offered, even though he had no experience with a gun of any kind. “I got this job to try new things, after all.”

“You never shoot?”

“My dad’s a banker, not a rodeo cowboy.”

Stan laughed. “Fair enough.”

“I’ve never drank either.” Kyle lifted his bottle a little, feeling brave after he got a laugh from his joke. With Stan watching, he took a sip. The burning flavor rapidly spread across his tongue. He quickly swallowed it, making a face.

Stan was laughing at him. “Not for you, then.”

Kyle shoved his drink away from him on the table, his throat tight. “Can I get some coke or something?”


	2. Chapter 2

They met in an open field. He and Stan were given guns and horses, as well as sixty-three sheep, more than Kyle had anticipated. It was a long ordeal in the sun. Jimbo and some other men discussed with each other while Stan prepared the saddle on his horse. Kyle just sort of copied his movements. The sheep were being herded off a truck and into wooden pens. They were marked blue on their back.

Eventually Jimbo gave them another rundown of the rules in a more strict voice than he had in the office, but he still ended the speech with a friendly smile. They were given two border collies and weren’t told their names. Kyle attempted to hop onto his horse; this was another thing he’d never done before. It was a large brown creature with evil-looking eyes, but it didn’t fight him.

“Careful there,” Stan said. He seemed to hop onto his with ease. Kyle accredited it to him being taller.

“I know how to ride a horse,” he snapped.

“Good.” Stan turned his horse around and whistled. The dogs came running to him, making laps around both of their horses. They spooked Kyle’s, and he struggled to stay on.

“Well, we’ll leave you boys be,” Jimbo called. All the men were heading to their pickups. “Remember, by the end of August, I want you down there to deliver.”

“We got it, Uncle Jimbo.”

Stan watched them leave. Once they were alone, he said, “Let’s get on. Before it gets even hotter.”

 

 

Traveling with so many sheep was easier than Kyle thought it would be. The dogs did most of the work, and their stupid mentality kept them all going the same place. Kyle just had to make sure none fell behind. The dogs on either side kept them together, and Stan led the way up front. The only times that Kyle had to dismount were when they crossed water that wasn’t shallow enough.

The sweat was getting to him, though. Eventually they found a clearing that seemed like a good place to stop. Stan and Kyle tied their horses up and started to make camp. The sun was setting on the horizon, casting long shadows from the surrounding trees.

“Do you know how to pitch a tent?”

“No.” Kyle decided to be honest.

“I’ll help you,” Stan said. It seemed like a simple tent. Kyle could probably figure it out if he tried. But Stan seemed eager to help. “I love camping. I used to go a lot when I was younger, with my dad.”

“Oh yeah?” Kyle spoke just to be polite while he watched Stan put stakes in the ground.

“Yeah. I just love being outside, really. For fun I used to sneak out to this mountain and climb the trees down low.”

Kyle smiled at the thought.

“You could start cooking or something while I do this.”

“I can’t cook.”

“It’s just beans.”

Sighing, Kyle went to start a fire not far from the tent. It was only easy to do because he brought a lighter.

They passed the time in silence. The sun had set by the time Kyle finished cooking. He’d had to walk back down to the stream to get water to boil. He dragged a log to the campfire and they both sat on it and ate. It was mostly quiet, bar the sound of several dozen sheep only a few meters away.

“Did you like your first day?” Stan asked him. Kyle nodded. “You didn’t seem happy about having to do this, before.”

Kyle shrugged one shoulder. “Like I said, my dad’s making me do this. But it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“Well, it’s only been a day.”

“Tell me more about you,” Kyle prompted.

Stan set his can on the ground, finished. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you have a job during the year?” Kyle asked.

“I’m a musician.”

Kyle almost said _I knew it_ but decided against it. “That’s nice.”

“Hardly. I mostly write music. I play sometimes at the coffeehouse, every other weekend maybe, but I don’t make much.” He gave Kyle a grin. “My girl’s into it though.”

Kyle wasn’t delusional enough to be hopeful in the first place, but whatever potential might’ve been there quickly left. “Girlfriend?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Her name’s Wendy. She’s real bookish and clever.”

“She sounds nice.”

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” he added. “I’ve always held a candle for her.”

Kyle didn’t have anything to say, so he said nothing.

“Do you have anyone?”

Kyle thought of David. “No.”

“Well.” Stan stood and wiped off his pants. “You said you’re only eighteen, right? There’s still time.”

Kyle tossed his empty can down. He didn’t like the reminder that Stan was a good few years older than him. “I guess.”

“Do you got the sheep?” Stan asked. “I’m gonna head down.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kyle told him.

Stan left on his horse.

 

 

He was back early morning to disturb Kyle’s slumber. Kyle had never been an early riser—or at least never had been and liked it. He would’ve been content to hide under the covers in the safety of his tent for the rest of the summer, Jimbo be damned. The sun hadn’t even started to rise before Stan was telling him to pack it all up.

“We could give ourselves a free pass day,” Kyle suggested. His voice was muffled by his arm.

“On day two?” He couldn’t see him, but he heard Stan’s amusement.

With a groan, Kyle forced himself up. They had a quick breakfast overlooking their sheep. The morning was dewy and kind of cold. The sun was beginning to find its way over the horizon now. Kyle wondered what time Stan must have gotten up to have time to be dressed, on his horse, and back to Kyle all before dawn. He didn’t look lively but he certainly wasn’t dead tired either; he just looked like someone who was ready for another day. Kyle had envied him.

They moved on.

The next few days passed similarly. They’d wake up early and eat breakfast, then start moving the sheep. Sometimes they’d position themselves with one in front and one in back. If Stan was feeling talkative he’d tell Kyle to ride beside him up front, where they’d discuss nothing at all. Stan would give him anecdotes about his childhood—how he used to have a dog named Sparky that he went everywhere with, and how he always got into fights with his older sister, who Kyle had deduced from other stories about his family was named Shelly. Kyle didn’t offer much in return. Much of his life revolved around his dreaded secret, all of his anxieties tied into keeping it. He didn’t even like to think of the word. The rest of his life was boring. He didn’t bother telling Stan about his plans for school simply because they were uninteresting in comparison to Stan’s life.

He did, after Stan told him a tale of his father pranking him on Christmas, offer that he was Jewish. This was terrifying in and of itself. It was dangerous to reveal something like that, even if he were in America. He was consequently exposing his entire family by letting it slip. But he knew—he just did—that Stan wouldn’t judge him for it.

“That’s cool,” Stan said, giving him a sideways smile.

“It is,” Kyle agreed. He didn’t know why he felt the need to go on. “My mom is very aggressive about it. My dad too, I guess. But it has to be a secret, because, I don’t know. It could be worse.”

“You could be colored,” Stan said casually. “Shortest end of the stick there ever was.”

This was true, and Kyle agreed. It was hard to put into perspective his problems compared to colored people’s. He’d rarely talked to them. They went to different schools. Their fathers weren’t bankers.

The days continued to go on. Every night they’d share dinner by a makeshift campfire until Stan excused himself to sleep somewhere far away from Kyle, who had nothing but his tiny green tent. He got good at pitching the thing up himself after the first week was nearing its end. He was doing so when Stan made a comment.

“The week’s nearly over,” he said. He had a pen and notepad in his hands. He sat on the grass and watched Kyle while he worked. “I need the list of stuff we need.”

“Soup,” Kyle said immediately. “I’m sick of beans.”

“Soup it is.”

“Where do you meet him, whoever takes that list?”

“Her,” Stan corrected. “Her name’s Bebe, the one who goes to get stuff for us. She meets me kind of in the middle. I’ll take my horse down to the bridge, where she waits with her pickup.”

Kyle vaguely knew where that was. The name sounded familiar, too. He didn’t think too much into it; he didn’t want the world to seem smaller than it already did, but he got the sense that Kenny knew her. All he said to Stan was, “Oh.”

“So soup. What else?”

Kyle paused to think. He settled on, “I don’t know.”

“I was thinking of asking her to bring me my guitar,” Stan said. He wasn’t looking at Kyle while he said it, but instead down at his notepad. “She might tell Jimbo. I’d have to ask her not to mention it.”

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“I miss making music. Or at least hearing it. I guess I could just ask for a radio.”

“No, I mean.” Kyle crossed his arms in the chill. It was getting weirdly cold out for summer. “Why can’t Jimbo know?”

“He’d tell my dad,” Stan replied. “Who hates my career. He wants me to be like him.”

“That sucks,” Kyle said. He felt himself to be an expert on the pressure of parental expectations. Silence settled between them. He finished taking down and packing up his tent. On his way to attaching it to his horse’s saddle he glanced down in the small valley area where they kept their sheep that night. They hadn’t lost any yet, so far. Stan told him they were getting closer to where the wolves roamed. Kyle leaned an arm up on his horse’s side and said, “You should tell Bebe to bring your guitar.” Stan turned to look at him when he spoke. “I want to hear what you can do.”

Stan twirled the pen he held in his fingers in a way that Kyle found hopelessly, endlessly charming. “I want to show you.”

 

 

At the end of the next week, Stan met with Bebe again and retrieved most of the stuff they asked for. She couldn’t get him a radio, he said. He was gone for a good while, and there was something else that she must have given him that he hid quickly in his pocket. Kyle assumed it might have been a gift from Wendy, or maybe a letter. Bebe did bring back Stan’s guitar, which he was happy about. She also, to Kyle’s surprise, brought them scotch.

That night, as Kyle was preparing soup for the both of them, Stan was strumming idly on his guitar. It was a basic design: brown, big. The campfire’s light made his appearance flicker in and out of the darkness.

He wasn’t singing, or even humming. Just plucking a tune out of the strings. Kyle didn’t recognize the song but it was upbeat, happy.

Stan was drinking; Kyle wasn’t.

“Did you ask her for that?” Kyle gestured to the bottle. The night was early still. The sun had only just set around half an hour ago. The quiet of the dark seemed new, and Stan was tipsy at best.

He nodded.

“You didn’t mention that to me.”

“I didn’t think to ask until I reached her,” he said, but Kyle could tell that he was lying. Nothing in his mannerisms gave Stan away, it was just the ease with which he’d said the lie.

“Right,” Kyle said anyway. He took the pot and poured it’s contents into one of the two bowls in front of him, then handed it to Stan. “Here’s your not-beans.”

It was kind of cold out, and only getting colder. They talked about nothing: the wolves, Jimbo, Stan’s father.

“What about your mom?” Kyle asked him. The soup was long gone. Stan was properly drunk. This was the only reason Kyle had started to share his bottle, even if the stuff tasted like shit. He felt bad being the sober one, like seeing Stan so vulnerable was him taking advantage of him.

“What about her?”

Kyle shrugged. “What’s she do?”

“She is…” Stan paused to think of the word, “... a receptionist.”

Kyle was expecting a more involved answer. “Right..”

“I talk about my family too much.” Before Kyle could refute this he said, “Tell me about yours.”

For some reason, Kyle started with Ike. “I have a brother. He’s Canadian. He’s adopted,” Kyle explained quickly.

“How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

“Wow.”

“My dad’s kind of dorky,” Kyle went on. “Like, awkward. My mom’s cool. She’s from Jersey.” It was the first time he’d ever described his mom as _cool_. He just took offense whenever anyone insulted her, and he didn’t want to give Stan a reason to.

“I bet I’d like them.”

Kyle was positive they wouldn’t like him. “You think you’ll ever meet them?”

“I reckon someday.”

Too many short answers. Kyle wanted to say something to fill the silence. He found himself staring at Stan instead: he was lying on his back in the grass. For the last few hours he’d had the bottle in hand, but Kyle held it now. Stan closed his eyes. Kyle watched him for the longest time.

He opened them. “Shit, what time is it?”

It was late. Kyle already knew the time, he’d been periodically checking his watch, waiting for Stan to notice the hours slip by. But he checked his watch anyway. “11:24.”

Stan let out a curse.

“It’s too late to go down there.” When Kyle got no response, he added, “You can sleep here.”

“Yeah,” Stan said after a while. He was looking around at the ground, thinking very seriously about it. “Yeah, I’ll sleep out here.”

“Outside?” Kyle stood. “You’ll freeze, dude. Sleep in the tent with me.” Was it transparent of him to say this so unabashedly? He felt dizzy as he stood, but that might’ve been the scotch.

“No,” Stan said, standing too. He was significantly more unsteady on his feet than Kyle was. “I’ll be fine out here. Just give me a blanket, will you?”

Kyle walked over to Stan’s pack, where he kept his blanket. He handed it to him reluctantly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dude.” He shooed Kyle away. “We have to wake up early tomorrow. Go to bed. I’m tired.”

“I’m not.”

He snorted.

“You never even sang for me,” Kyle claimed, reaching for the guitar that’d been disregarded to the grass. He held it awkwardly.

“You’re left-handed?” Stan asked.

Kyle switched the guitar to be on the other side of him. He didn’t know why he was self-conscious about that fact about himself. “Maybe.”

“That’s cute.”

“Cute?” He felt his defenses fall away at the word, but Stan had already  moved on. He plucked the guitar from Kyle’s hands and sat back down with it in place. Kyle sat cross-legged in front of him, closer than he probably should’ve been.

“What d’you wanna hear?” Stan asked him. He met his eyes. They were dim, but happy. His smile was eager to please.

“Anything,” Kyle told him.

So Stan took a few moments to think before playing the simple tune to _Love Me Tender_. Kyle knew the song well; his mother loved Elvis.

Stan’s voice was soft and a bit slurred as he sang the words, but beautiful all the same. Kyle listened to him intently, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He wondered why Stan chose such a romantic song to sing. It was intimate to hear the words— _take me to your heart, for it’s there that I belong_ —all alone with him, in the silence of the mountain woods.

“Your voice is the best I’ve ever heard,” Kyle said when he’d finished. Sincerely.

“Nice of you to say.”

“I’m serious,” Kyle told him. “Your career choice is perfect. Your dad’s a fool, just like mine.”

“Why’s your dad a fool?”

Kyle stuttered on his words. Had he said that? “He just is,” he said finally. “Anyone is, if they wouldn’t listen to you. I would listen to you sing for the rest of my life. Speak, even.”

“Kyle.” Stan made his name sound like a warning, or an accusation. In any case, it scared Kyle to silence. He stood again, and started for the tent.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t know what exactly for. “I’m going to bed.”

“Thought you weren’t tired?” Stan was sad to see him go.

Kyle set his hand on the zipper of his tent and repeated himself. “I’m going to bed.”

He zipped it shut.

 

 

He was a light sleeper. He woke to the sounds of Stan shivering outside the tent. The decision was instantaneous: he unzipped the tent to call harshly to him. “Stan. Stan! Get in here.”

The wind was rough, and the low temperature wasn’t doing Stan any favors. He sat up tiredly. Kyle noticed in the back of his mind that it was the first time he’d ever seen him tired. He didn’t argue with Kyle. He crawled with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and collapsed inside the tent wordlessly.

Kyle zipped it up. He watched Stan, who looked like he’d already fallen asleep again. Carefully, he lay down, facing Stan. They were so close—Kyle could feel Stan’s breaths on him. He smelled of alcohol, and soup. He was drooling slightly. Kyle found all of this endearing.

He turned around to face away from him, still careful not to wake him up. Gingerly, and without thinking about his safety or the consequences, he reached behind himself for Stan’s arm. He moved it slowly, pulled it to settle around him. They were warm together like this. Kyle closed his eyes.

In a flash Stan was sitting up, having pushed Kyle away violently. Kyle matched his speed, all his nerves on end. He pulled Stan close. Stan fought him.

“Shh. It’s just me,” Kyle said. He held Stan’s face in his hands. Stan was awake now, mildly. He looked at Kyle with his brows furrowed. But there was no confusion there. Only fear. And desire. “It’s just me,” Kyle said again.

They were growing closer. Kyle was going to kiss him. Even if Stan killed him afterward, Kyle wanted to kiss him. Stan let himself be pulled close. When he spoke, Kyle could almost feel the words on his own lips. “What are you doing?” A terrified whisper.

Kyle didn’t kiss him. It was Stan who made the final push, bringing their lips together, pushing Kyle to his back. Kyle opened his mouth to him. This was it—this was light, was what life was supposed to be, what he would be living the rest of his life for. This kiss right here was what he would chase for as long as he had to, and he didn’t mind the thought.

Stan was a strong man over him. Kyle tugged at his shirt and Stan quickly leaned back to pull it off of himself before hurriedly meeting Kyle’s lips again. Stan’s fingers tickled under his own shirt, trembling. Stan had made all these moves so far, even if they were tentative. Had he wanted Kyle all along? As bad as Kyle wanted him?

Kyle echoed Stan’s words when he went for the button on Kyle’s pants. “What are you doing?”

Stan’s face was hidden in the crook of Kyle’s neck. He was breathing heavily. He had undone Kyle’s fly, his hand cupped the outline of his cock through his underwear. “I don’t know.”

“We don’t have anything,” Kyle said quietly. They were both speaking quietly. Kyle wasn’t a professional at this or anything, but he’d had sex with David enough times to know the basic ins and outs, and what was needed for them.

Stan leaned up a little and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small bottle of liquid. “Bebe gave me this.” He shoved it into Kyle’s hand, clearly having no idea what to do with it. Kyle wondered for a second—just a second—if he were a virgin.

It was lube. It was what Kyle had thought might’ve been a letter. He smiled and pulled Stan to kiss him, to imprint his smile onto Stan’s face. He said, “Take off my pants.”

Stan did, clumsily. They were tossed aside. Stan didn’t hide his staring at Kyle’s dick. Kyle spread his legs subconsciously.

“Here.” He reached for Stan’s hand and flicked the bottle open. He squirted some into his hand and slowly, steadily led Stan’s hand lower, to his entrance.

“What?” Stan seemed confused. His fingers circled it, rubbing it gently like it might break.

Kyle suppressed the urge to make noise. He wanted to be the more experienced one for a change, in control and handling it. “You have to stretch me.”

Stan slid a finger in. Kyle’s head fell back, his eyes falling shut. “Fuck.”

He wasn’t going to let it be a long process. He let Stan fuck him with one, then two fingers, until Stan was fucking him proper, leaning over him with purpose in his eyes, and the purpose was making Kyle say, “Fuck, Stan, fuck.”

Quickly Kyle poured lube in his hand and pulled Stan’s dick out of his pants, jerking him rapidly. It put a pause to Stan’s fingering but Kyle quickly placed the head of Stan’s cock where he wanted it.

“Kyle,” Stan said. Not a warning. Not anything. Just his name.

“Fuck me, Stan.”

Stan did. He inched into him, groaning while he did. And then he fucked him. It wasn’t slow, and they didn’t talk. He fucked him fast and hard, like they could be caught at anytime, like it was the first real fuck of his life. Kyle jerked himself off while he did, and came in his hand when Stan said, after so many quiet curses, “Kyle, Kyle.”

He knew when Stan came inside him when Stan leaned forward to kiss his neck, bite into it, when his hips stuttered against his ass and he sighed heavily after.

After.

Kyle pulled Stan’s face, his hands on either side of him, and brought their lips together. Stan kissed him back languidly. He pulled out and laid beside Kyle, his eyes closed. Kyle could feel come leak from him and forced himself to ignore it. He was typically an obsessive cleaner after sex, but he didn’t want to leave Stan for a second. He was sleeping already.

The blanket was a mess around them. Kyle situated it as best he could around Stan. He cuddled up close to him, and tried his best to fall asleep without the warmth.

 

 

He woke with the blanket around him, and without Stan. He put his pants on in panic. He didn’t know what he thought, that Stan had left him? Gone back home and left Kyle to take the sheep the rest of the way himself? But when Kyle exited the tent, Stan was sitting on the grass, his back to him.

“Wolves killed some sheep last night,” Stan said before Kyle could say anything. He was drawing in patches of dirt with a stick.

Kyle frowned. “How many?”

“Two.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Kyle walked over and sat himself next to him. His ass ached, but he ignored it and focused instead on the warmth of Stan’s arm against his, and the warmth in the fact that Stan didn’t move away. It only lasted until Stan spoke.

“I’m not queer,” he told Kyle. He eyed him from the side.

Kyle pursed his lips and shook his head. The word felt like a dagger. He’d never said it aloud before. He lied through his teeth. “Me neither.” He had a headache, so he knew Stan had one too. “Stan, it doesn’t have to be anybody’s business but ours.”

Stan looked at him sadly.

“Just for the summer,” Kyle suggested. It felt like pleading. “Just me and you. That’s all.”

Stan still didn’t say anything. He seemed pained.

“I know you felt it too.” He was definitely pleading now.

“You’re only eighteen.” Stan dropped his head and shook it, running his hands through his hair. “You just turned eighteen.”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Kyle argued.

“I know that.” Stan eyed his body in a way that made him blush. “Are you hurting?”

“No,” Kyle lied.

“Good.” He stood, and offered Kyle his hand. “Come on. We gotta get moving.”

Kyle accepted it. “And us?”

Stan squeezed his hand before letting go. The fact that he let go before he spoke is what made his next words feel like a lie.

“Just for the summer.”

 

 

They were happy to be together after that. It was easy not to think about the future when it wasn’t staring you head on. They had a good couple months before they’d have to say goodbye. And maybe they wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Kyle hoped in his heart of hearts that they wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

Stan played guitar and sang for him often. Kyle joined shyly whenever he recognized the songs, and then confidently when it became obvious that Stan wasn’t going to judge him for being joyous. Every night, Stan slept with Kyle in the tent. Every night, they made love. That’s what it felt like to Kyle. Not fucking—with David it was fucking—but with Stan it was making love.

In an attempt to remedy the wolves problem, they went shooting. Kyle was the only one to hold the gun. He aimed and shot several times after hours of attempting to spot one from afar, but he only got a hit once, just a clip before it ran off. Wounded, but alive.

“Shit.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Stan said. “I can’t shoot at all.”

“Why is that?” Kyle aimed at the trees, the birds, nothing in particular. It just felt cool to hold a gun.

“I love animals,” Stan admitted. “That’s why I hate coming out here in the summer. I’m a vegetarian at home.”

Kyle gave him a funny look. “Really?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Kyle laughed, delighted. “I don’t look like anything! That’s cute. That’s adorable, really.”

“What, because I care?”

“Most people don’t.”

Stan shoved him. “Shoot the wolves. I need my sheep alive.”

“They’re Jimbo’s sheep.”

“Not until August.”

At night, after they were both spent and shivering in each other’s arms, Kyle couldn’t help speaking what was on his mind. He was lying on Stan’s chest, his finger tracing a nipple. Stan’s thumb circled absentmindedly on his skin. Kyle knew without looking that his eyes were closed. “Stan,” he said. It was soft, like a whisper.

“Kyle,” Stan responded, even softer. He hadn’t opened his eyes.

“After,” Kyle started. “After summer. What are you going to do?”

He listened to Stan breathe, and traveled in the movement. “I’m going to propose to Wendy,” he said. Simply, like it was nothing. “In the fall.”

For some reason, Kyle wasn’t expecting this answer. He knew that Stan had a girlfriend. He had no idea how serious they were. He thought the answer would’ve been something like _I’ll continue to work_ or _I’ll write a song about you_ , and Kyle was going to follow it up with _Can we still speak to each other when the magic is over?_

Instead he got kicked in the gut, and words escaped him. “Oh.”

“Kyle.”

“What?”

“Don’t sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I just fucking kicked you.” Stan sat up, forcing Kyle to sit up as well. They faced each other angrily. Kyle wasn’t angry, he just mirrored Stan’s expression. “You knew this wasn’t going to last. You suggested it.”

“I know.”

“I love Wendy.”

“I know.” The back and forth felt like being dragged through wall after wall of bricks.

Stan searched his eyes. What was he looking for? “What are you going to do?” he asked him.

Kyle crossed his arms. He was shirtless, they both were. “I’ll go to school.”

This peaked Stan’s interest. Kyle never mentioned going to school. He felt emboldened by this, glad that he’d kept it a secret now. “Where?” Stan asked.

“Colorado.” He intended the word to hurt, and he saw that it did.

“You are?” How could he sound like that? Like he hadn’t just told Kyle the two of them would never be anything?

“Yes, Stan,” Kyle said, annoyed. There was more malice in his words than he’d intended. “I’m going to the University of Denver, where I’ve been studying to go ever since I left. I’m going to go home, away from this stupid fucking state with its stupid fucking—”

“Kyle.”

Kyle looked at him harshly. “And you’re going to marry Wendy. And we’re never going to see each other again.”

“That’s how it’s going to be?” Stan asked him. Wounded.

Good. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

 

 

They got a visit from Jimbo the next day. He showed up in the middle of July, after Stan was dressed and packing away and before they’d started moving. He was atop a horse of his own, an all-white beast bigger than either of their horses.

“Kyle,” he said gravely.

He’d spooked the both of them. They were far from each other—Stan over by their horses, Kyle bundling up his tent—but the moment Kyle met Jimbo’s eyes he felt like it was obvious what they’d been doing all summer. “Hi, Jimbo,” he said tentatively.

“What are you doing here, Uncle Jimbo?” Stan sounded annoyed more than anything.

“I’ve come with news for Mr. Broflovski.”

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Jimbo said. “But Isaac is sick. It’s pretty dire. He was rushed to the hospital after having a fainting spell yesterday evening. It’s been revealed that he has leukemia.”

Kyle didn’t know what to say. It felt like the earth had crumbled from beneath him. He was falling, falling.

“What should we do?” Stan asked for him. He didn’t sound annoyed now.

“Hurry, I reckon,” Jimbo replied. “If you take the shortcut through the river down east you could save a month’s time. It’ll be hard but you could make it.”

“We’ll have to make it,” Stan said, glancing sideways to Kyle, who hadn’t moved. He nodded to Jimbo. “Thanks, Jimbo. We’ll be home as soon as we can.”

Once he left, Stan rushed to Kyle. “Are you okay? Isaac—your brother, right?”

Kyle dropped his head. “What am I going to do?”

“Come on, I’ll help you on your horse,” Stan said. “We shouldn’t waste time. The river will be rough but we’ll be okay. Kyle, do you hear me?” Kyle wanted to shout at him, but he didn’t say anything. “He’ll be okay.”

Kyle went to his horse.

The next few days were horrible. They hardly touched each other at all. Kyle didn’t meet Stan’s eyes if he could help it, though they still slept together. Never for very long. Early to rise, late to bed, for a week straight.

They made it. The sheep were accounted for painstakingly slowly, totaling to fifty-nine. Jimbo might’ve lectured them, had Kyle’s brother not been on the brink of death.

Their cars were parked by Jimbo’s office, where they’d met. Jimbo drove the both of them back there in complete silence. Once there, Kyle rushed to his car. Stan stopped him. “Wait.”

Kyle turned.

“This might be the last time we see each other,” he said.

“Yeah,” Kyle replied.

Stan’s expression crumbled, and he glanced around to make sure no one was witness. Jimbo had gone inside. His voice mirrored his face. “Kyle, please.”

“This is what you wanted.”

Stan didn’t deny it. Kyle got in his car.

He hated driving. He was emotionless as he pulled out of the parking lot, his face blank. It lasted for all of five minutes as he drove down the empty road before the grief seemed to sneak up on him. All at once, it crashed into him, his tears forced from his body in ugly sobs. He pulled over and turned his car off and let himself weep into his hands.

The summer was over. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Stan was gone and Ike could be dead. He wasn’t a crier, but he let himself cry about it.


End file.
